The Clicker Saga
by RedH2O
Summary: The Clicker has been here as long as anyone can remember: a man with an insatiable lust for progress and pastries. Our creator, and our destroyer. To him, nothing is beyond reach, and nothing is irreplaceable. For us, it was the end of life as we knew it; for him, it was a stepping stone.
1. Interview

It had been a long, long time since the stars peered down over the poor souls that still inhabited whatever was left of Terra-01-Alpha, or "Earth" as some of the oldest humans call it. This was due to many reasons. Perhaps the thick layers of smog pumped out by the factories had absorbed all the light that wasn't eaten by the luminous prisms. Or maybe the stars had been mined for the chocolate that burned at their cores, eternal lights sputtering out at man's cold touch. Whatever the reason, T-01-A was nothing but a shell of its former self. "It used to have something called 'grass' instead of flaky dough" proclaimed some elderly civilians. "We could go outside and smell air that wasn't baked". The youngest on the decayed planet merely scoffed at those that spouted nonsense about the past. How could life exist without cookies? Life _was_ cookies! And as if to punctuate their point, more and more left the celestial husk to become miners on distant planets, or farmers on the artificial plains housed within motherships.

One of the few non-cookie-based lifeforms that strayed on the planet was a very powerful man. He was the origin. He was the owner. He bought the cursors, the mines, the ships and the portals, prisms, condensers, everything. This man had brought upon the wrath of the Grandmatri… the beings whose name should not be spoken, and had the power to stop them. Age had taken a toll on this man. His suit, usually a vibrant caramel brown to match the colors of the thick rivers that crisscrossed T-01-A, was now barely visible beneath the layers of crumbs and cocoa, with hints of substances far more mystical and unspeakable mixed therein. The smile and knowing look in his eyes that made even complete strangers trust him had sunken into his face, giving the impression of a live soul within a dead corpse. His right hand had long since been replaced with a single, Plasmarble-forged "finger" of sorts, which he used to do the baking process he referred to as "clicking". And yet, he still seemed to bring determination with every movement, and purpose with every cookie. And why shouldn't he feel confident? He owned everything. His house alone comprised more than 70% of what was left of "Earth": a gleaming metropolis of both awe and horror.

At the present moment the man, whose name was known across the universe only as "The Clicker", sat in his lounge and stared at an enormous screen built into one wall of his abode. The screen appeared to be nothing more than a random assortment of numbers, with a few percentages and steadily rising digits. To any viewer, The Clicker would have seemed like an old man bordering on senility. What use is there in staring at a boring screen like that for hours on end? No one knew he was waiting for something special. As he waited, his mind drifted back many years to an interview he had participated in within that very same room, long before the outer complex was built and he had only a handful of (or at least, what he considered a handful; truly it was closer to several trillion) cookies to his name.

* * *

Back then, Earth truly was the way the elders described. The first concepts of prismatic technology had barely been touched, and the air was mostly clean around the large house in which The Clicker sat. Across from him, in an equally comfy and inviting armchair, was Steven Palmer, a local television newscaster. To either side of the two well-known figures as a series of television crewmen, make-up artists, groupies, etc. The interview had commenced with a few light questions and jovial introductions before Steven started asking the "hard hitting" queries.

"So, Mr. Clicker-"

The Clicker chuckled and gave that knowing smile. "Please, no need to be so formal. You may call me T.C. if you'd like."

Steven laughed back and nodded. "Aha! Very well, T.C., tell the audience... how have you managed to build such a cookie empire? After all, you've jumped the ladder to one of the wealthiest men in the country!"

The Clicker paused for a moment, pretending to search deeply for an answer. "You know, I think it all comes from experience. Nothing ever gets done without practice, truly."

Steven raised an eyebrow. "But, T.C., surely you've never run a business of this scale before!"

"No, you're right about that. This is the largest my company has gotten so far." The Clicker smiled again. "But I have plans to expand soon, so look forward to that."

Steven went on for a bit about this exclusive hint of new possible expansion while The Clicker played along, enjoying this simple moment. He'd done it so many times. He knew Steven's every move, every quip and analogy. However many times this interview had taken place was lost to time with each new... rebirth.

Steven calmed down again and regained control of his excitable personality. "Well, T.C., the world really wants to know: just what _is_ your secret to success?"

The Clicker's eyes seemed to sparkle. "Well, I guess you could call me a man of god, of sorts. I rely heavily on Heaven to get me ahead in life."

Steven grinned at this seemingly wholesome response and prepared another question when an alarm on The Clicker's electronic arm buzzed. He glanced down and smiled to see the words "Achievement Unlocked: You Can Stop Now" scroll by on a small screen embedded into his appendage. He stood up, much to Steven's dismay.

"Uh, Mr. Cli- T.C., are you going? We're live right now, and-"

The Clicker held up his left hand. "I'm afraid so, Steven. My time here runs short, and it's time to become a little closer to heaven. It was very nice talking to you again."

And with that, the younger Clicker waltzed out of the room and down a set of long hallways into a heavily locked room. Steven was left speechless and confused. He muttered to himself before telling the cameramen to quit.

"Again? But we've never spoken before..."

* * *

The Clicker, leaving his nostalgia behind him, now watched the screen with growing excitement, his Plasmarble finger placed on some sort of worn pad, tapping it every so often. A particular line on the screen incremented by one. 7775. A few moments of waiting followed by another tap. 7776. A few more moments. Tap. 7777. His right appendage buzzed, and he nearly cackled with glee. The words "Black Cat's Paw Unlocked" scrolled slowly on the old and tattered arm. Without hesitation, The Clicker sprang up and ran with a speed unfitting of his age down the long hallways of his manor and rapidly unlocked the final door before stepping gingerly inside. There, in the center of the old, cobweb-filled room was a pedestal covered in crumbs and dust. He took careful, almost adoring steps up to it and brushed aside the lingering debris to reveal a small button with a single word printed on it in red letters. "Reset". He lightly tapped the button, glee pouring from his every action, and spoke aloud to seemingly no one and everyone. "Yes... yes, I am quite sure..." He then waited with closed eyes and bated breath for the world to end.

A young boy opened his eyes in his childhood home. His grandmother handed him a cookbook with a sweet smile. "You be a good boy, now, Thomas." The boy nodded and eagerly took the book. Once he assured the elderly woman that he could bake by himself, he took a moment to breath before rushing to the closet to see what had changed. In the small, shabby broom closet was a large potato sac, like one would find on an old farm. He carefully opened the bag and was delighted to feel his face bathed in a blue, holy glow. Chocolate chips. Perfect, powerful, heavenly chocolate chips. And on top of the chips was a small piece of paper that conveyed the following message in immaculate typography.

"You earned 4,560 Heavenly Chips."


	2. Everyday

A dark expanse. Stumbling through it. I can feel some sort of leaves below my feet where the crumbs should be. In my rush I touch one of the pillars around me. It doesn't feel like the usual brushed metal of the Dungeons. Coarser, but not crumbly like cookies. I hear a noise behind me and keep running. A light up ahead; a small house; made of the same stuff as the pillars. The noise gets louder behind me. I rush in through the ajar door and slam it shut. Catching my breath. Heavy breathing. Mild breathing. Panic subsiding. It occurs to me to look around the home, if it can be called that. A single room with what feels like an oven in the center, but it's not metal. It moves and glows, and at the center is more of the pillar-metal. A figure. They toss more pillar-metal into the heat. I approach it and it turns around. I scream.

The Clicker.

* * *

I wake up in a cold sweat, my hands clawing at the air mattress and cocoa-stained blanket I call my bed. I notice that I'm screaming and quickly place a hand over my mouth, tasting the sweat on my palms. This is real. Real life. I check the clock to my right to see the time. 4:55. I stare at the hands as they move to calm myself back down. Moving my hand from my mouth, I sigh. Five minutes before I have to get up. Typical. I continue to watch the hands and then stop the clock a second after it starts to ring. Another second and the lights automatically come on. A cold voice sounds from the speaker embedded in the corner of the room.

"Crumb. Get ready please."

I sigh again but my body is already moving towards the restroom of my apartment. The 'please' was a formality. As the crisp air hits my body I wish for the thousandth time we were allowed to wear clothes in bed. But all we have is our uniforms, and they must be turned in every night before bed for cleaning. I reach the door to the restroom and open it. Same old dingy-but-ancient toilet, shower, sink. Not sure how they manage to disinfect everything but still keep things the same. I walk into the shower and it automatically activates. I shiver and clean myself, being careful of the growths scattered across my body. Hitting them too hard hurts. After exactly two minutes the system turns the milk off and I step out. The system has dispensed a towel for me, which I use to try off before placing it in the hatch next to me, which shuts a little too quickly. I sigh once more. I've heard others lost their fingers in these hatches. Not a pretty sight. I'm running out of prep time, so I head over to the full-body mirror to make my appearance at least halfway presentable. I don't do it for them. I do it for _her_... I smile slightly. Doe.

"A little faster, please, Crumb."

The cold, metallic voice shakes me from my thoughts, and to my shock is see that the ends of my chest have hardened slightly. I cover it with my hands. Thinking about Doe always makes this happen. I look back to the mirror and examine myself. Same old black hair with that little bit in the front that sticks out. Same old ugly tanned skin and spots from the illness. Same old stupid buck teeth that make me look like one of those egg-laying monsters. Another sigh. It'll do. I adjust myself mentally and physically and leave the bathroom. My clothes lie on the bed, no doubt placed there by a kneader repurposed for domestic work. I quickly and not-so-elegantly put them on. Panties, then skirt, next striped shirt, finally blazer. All tacky, but I don't get a choice. Once I'm fully dressed the door at the other end of the room automatically opens and I make my way towards it. However, just before I leave, I reach out to the small needle sticking out of the wall and prick my finger. The blood is quickly slurped up by the wall.

"Scan complete."

Sigh. I walk down the hall, grumbling to myself silently. Why do we have to always prick ourselves every day if they already have our code? It's not like we change at all. We don't get the chance.

* * *

I reach the main 'dining hall': a dome of grey metal with a single long table in the middle. Hardly a dining hall; there's only ever four of us anyway. I make my way towards the table but stop in my tracks when I see someone enter from the hall across from mine. There she is. I gulp. Doe. I blush just from seeing her, and she waves to me, making me blush even harder. I like everything about her. Her puffy lime hair with the green hair band. That little gap in her teeth that you can only see when she smiles. All those tiny freckles like the chips on a delicious cookie. I wish I could tell her that… that she makes me feel like I'm eating an Eternal Heart Biscuit. Anyway, she reaches the table first and pats the seat next to her, gesturing for me to sit. I hope my blushing isn't so noticeable as I sit next to her. She begins to speak.

"H-hello Crumb! H-h-how are you today?"

Sweet Mokalsium, I love her voice.

"Uh, I'm good, I guess. How about you, Doe?"

She grants me one of her amazing smiles.

"I'm g-good too! Kind of h-hungry. When do you think th-the other will g-get here?"

I open my mouth to speak when we hear footsteps approaching from the hallway to the North. I grimace. It could only be one person. Sure enough, a moment later little miss Goodie-Two-Shoes herself skips down the hall towards us. Doe waves to her, and my grimace grows.

"G-good morning, Ch-Chip!"

Ugh, Chip. Always so happy, always so perfect, from her matching brown hair and eyes to her perfect skin. She waves back and then skips over to the table, plopping down across from us.

"Well, good morning to you too, Doe! As chatty as ever I see."

Doe tries to answer but Chip cuts her off to turn to me, smirking as I try to burn holes through her head with my gaze.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of such a mean look, Crumb? Did I do something wrong?"

Yes, you were born. But I don't want to seem mean around Doe, so I plaster on a fake smile and reply.

"Sorry about that, Chip. It's just that one of my, uh, growths was kinda hurting… I guess…"

Chip puts on a clearly fake concerned expression.

"Aww, poor dear! Well, if it makes you feel any better, it hurts to look at too."

She lets out a shrill laugh. It takes just about every bit of sugar in my body not to show her that it's not just the Wrinklers she should be afraid of. But my anger quickly subsides into sadness before I notice something light on my shoulder. I turn to see Doe's hand on me with a genuine concerned expression.

"Are y-you okay, Crumb? I c-could ask for a medic-bot f-for you, if y-you w-want…"

Seeing her anything but happy is almost too much for me to handle, but I try to keep from crying and smile at her instead.

"No, I'm okay Doe. Thank you, though. It, uh… means a lot."

Doe blesses me with another smile, which makes me smile wider. Chip scoffs knowingly before speaking.

"Whatever. Anyway, I'm starving. Where is-"

Suddenly we hear quick footsteps from the South corridor. They continue for a few moments before we hear a crash and a distinct thud, followed quickly by an "ouch". Chip laughs loudly in her shrill, irritating way. The footsteps resume and Lucky comes into view. Despite the bruise on her knee from tripping, she has her usual grin on. Even with signs of Milk from the showers still on her dark skin and flowing green hair, Lucky manages to always seem put together, in a kind of weird way. She carefully moves towards the table and speaks before anyone can ask the obvious question.

"Hey, sorry for the wait. Would you believe it that my shower was on the fritz?"

Chip smirks cruelly at her.

"Everything seems to be on the fritz around you, Lucky. Maybe you have a cursed finger?"

Chip giggles and I glare at her, but Lucky either doesn't understand her cruelty or ignores it entirely, laughing as well.

"Haha, yeah. I guess I can be a little un-Lucky at times... Get it?"

Chip rolls her eyes, but Doe laughs sincerely, and I laugh with her. Lucky is the kind of girl that can make even the worst pun seem halfway decent. Lucky sits down next the Chip and we all chat for a minute or two before four Kneaders wheel themselves into the dining hall, platters in their hands. One rolls up to each of us and places our meals down in front of us. I sigh. Same breakfast as usual. A bowl of Clicker branded cookie cereal with Vanilla Milk, two scrambled eggs from animals chosen seemingly at random, and the large plate with a variety of cookies for us all to share. Having eaten nothing all night we quickly tuck into the food. This goes the same as usual: Chip eats daintily, pretending to be better than everyone else; Lucky spills some milk and crumbs on her freshly cleaned uniform, then tries (and fails) to clean it off; Doe picks up a couple of Pinwheel cookies and puts them over her eyes before turning to me and sticking her tongue out; I try not to laugh so hard that milk comes out of my nose, then repeat the joke with some Eyeball cookies to make her laugh back. Once we're all finished the Kneaders return to take the plates and we leave the table to head to work through the hallway that the system had just opened for us. As usual we walk single-file: Chip striding ahead, followed by Doe, then me, then Lucky. I try desperately to look straight ahead and not pay attention to how good Doe's backside looks in her skirt, which only makes me want to look more. I feel my chest get hard again and blush, pulling my blazer closed to cover myself more. We walk in silence for a few minutes before reaching The Passage.

We move from single-file to standing side by side in front of the familiar, worn-down stairs leading downwards further than we can see. But we all know what's down there. The Dungeons. Once we're in line a large tele-screen starts to descend from the ceiling, showing a face that makes us all stand straighter in fear. The Clicker. Somehow he always looks to be a different age when we see him: sometimes only around ten years older than us, sometimes he looks like an animated corpse. He smiles down at us knowingly and points with his robotic finger at us, and speaks in a voice that makes us shiver.

"Good Morning, Cookie Adventurers. Before I begin choosing, would anyone like to volunteer to go first?"

I grimace. 'Cookie Adventurers' indeed. What a load of crud; we're fodder. A few moments pass, as usual, before The Clicker shrugs.

"Very well. Then the first Adventurer will be…"

He pauses. I try not to frown, as disobedience is not tolerated, but at least I think my thoughts are private. And right now my thoughts are telling him to get on with this nightmare.

"...Doe."

My heart sinks and I have to resist turning to make sure she's okay. Doe steps forward and a Kneader brings her The Cookie Cutter. The long, serrated blade looks too hard for her to handle with her delicate hands. I can hear her ragged breathing even from foot away. She's scared. I wish I could hold her. I wish I could do anything. Doe starts to speak her rehearsed lines, as is customary.

"Th-thank you, Mr. C-clicker. I hope I c-can make some cookies f-for you."

The Clicker grins.

"I'm sure you will, dear. Off you go now."

She takes a shaky step towards the stairs before gathering her strength and starting off down the stairs. All I can do is watch her go, tears in my eyes. She takes one last look back at us before the light from The Passage can't be seen anymore. We lock eyes and I see she has as many tears in her eyes as I do. Then she's gone. A small flame lost in the darkness of the Dungeons. I look straight ahead again, flattening my expression again. She could be okay. She might come back soon. The Clicker starts to speak again.

"Well, that should be fun for her. As for the rest of you, please head off towards the training room."

A door to our left opens and we move towards it. Inside the large room is a set of three bench pressing machines, three test dummies with three fake swords, three barbells, etc. Lucky moves over to the barbells and I move over to one of the bench presses. Chip stands behind me as a spotter. A while passes with me lifting weights in silent anger before Chip starts up a conversation.

"You know it's pretty obvious."

I see her smirk from the corner of my vision. I pretend I don't hear her.

"Playing dumb will do you no good, honey."

She places a hand on my weight and pushes down. I huff out of my nose.

"What are you talking about, Chip? Shouldn't you be exercising too? You could be called next."

Chip shrugs, grinning.

"True. But I love helping my friends."

She pushes down on the weight harder before continuing.

"Hmm. I wonder how old Doe-nut is doing."

I grind my teeth and continue lifting in silence, using my rage to fuel my training.

"She must be facing all sorts of monsters down there. Sentient Cookies, and Doughlings, and Disgruntled Workers. She probably won't even make it to level tw-"

"Shut up."

Chip grins wider.

"Oh, what's wrong, Crumby? We're all friends here. Unless you have some reason to think that Doe is more valuable than me…"

She puts another hand on the weights. My breathing gets heavier but I don't say anything.

"You think I haven't noticed how you look at her? Really? _She's_ your type?"

Chip leans on the weights to get closer to my ear.

"I guess even the freaks think they have a chance. She's almost as ugly as you, so it makes sense."

I feel beads of sweat appear on my face. Or maybe they're tears. My teeth feel like they're about to break. I gently lower the weights while thinking of a comeback, which I never get to make as the system speaks over the speakers.

"Crumb, please report to The Passage."

My arms are shaking but I quickly move towards the entrance. I can hear Chip laughing behind me and Lucky struggling with the barbells. I don't turn around. I don't trust myself not to do something I'd regret.

Standing in front of the stairs, with a Kneader handing me The Cookie Cutter, would make most people afraid. But I take it and glare up at the The Clicker on the screen, gritting my teeth as I reply to our overlord.

"Thank you Mr. Clicker. I hope I can make some cookies for you."

The Clicker grins. Again.

"I'm sure you will, dear. Off you go now."

I don't even look at him as he speaks. I'm already down the stairs. Once the light from The Passage has faded to blackness, the overhead lamps in the stairs turn on, revealing the familiar brushed metal door that serves as the entrance to the Dungeons. I kick it open out of frustration. Stupid Clicker. Stupid Chip. I'm finding Doe and getting out of here. As soon as I take a step an enemy approaches me. A small Doughling. I imagine it's Chip and crush it under my foot without even using the sword. I continue onwards for what seems like hours. There are cookies I could pick up for The Clicker. I spit on a pile of them and move towards a locked door. Smashing it open I see a Sentient Furnace. An amalgamation of iron, fire and hatred for anything that moves. Gritting my teeth and, raising my blade, I point to the beast.

"Where's Doe?"

The Furnace smiles maliciously at me, its mouth pouring out sickly-sweet flames.

"She is cinder, child. So too will you follow suit."

He opens his mouth and spits out something.

Doe's headband, charred to a crisp.

"She did not last even a moment. Pathetic."

I stare at the headband in shock. Chip was right. She didn't make it to level two. I grip the hilt of my sword so hard my knuckles turn white. Tears fill my eyes and I clench my teeth so hard I hear a crack. The furnace laughs evilly as I taste my own chocolate blood.

"Come closer, child. I will give you some cookies if you defeat me. The Clicker is waiting for your demise."

I look up at the monster and raise my blade, murderous intent masking my pain. I want to have some brave battle cry. I want to say some line to make me seem like a heroine. But I just scream, letting out a pure frustration that I try to push down every second of every day, rushing forward and slashing at the Furnace with trained precision. Aim for the bolts. Always aim for the weaker bolts. The Cookie Cutter cleaves through the burning steel, causing the metallic beast to scream in agony. His wails launch molten dough and sugar at me, which I don't even attempt to dodge. I'm beyond any more pain they can do to me. Doe is dead. Any other thoughts I have leave my mind as the machine dies, spewing forth cookies for me to collect. I barely notice its death as I bring the blade down into the molten core over, and over, and over. Doe is dead. The force of my hatred-fueled swings fling more and more flames onto me, the liquid sugar sticking to my skin. I scream in a mix of inner and outer pain, slamming The Cookie Cutter into the ground where the Furnace once stood. Its tempered-sugar blade shatters, launching shards of sugar glass into my chest and legs. Who cares. Doe is dead. I stand in the smoldering cinders for a while before the pain starts to hit me. Probably fatal injuries. Who cares. Looking down at the rubble I see a familiar green fabric, tinged black from a swift trip through an inferno. Stumbling over to Doe's headband, I fall forward, managing to clutch her memento as the life leaves my disfigured body. My tears mix with the cocoa-infused blood that seeps out of me. I cough, sending ash flying forward, and attempt to speak.

"D… Doe… I'm sorry…"

The last thing I see in my tear-blurred vision is a Kneader approaching to collect the cookies I earned.

* * *

I wake up in a cold sweat after hearing a door shut. A Kneader leaves my apartment, having finished carrying me from the cloning chamber on the other side of my room to my bed. I glance at the familiar clock next to me. It reads 4:55. I sigh. Doe should be back by now too. I grip the sheets tightly. Next time I'll volunteer for her. I turn to look at the green light shining from the cloning chamber, and the words flashing on it.

**PLEASE RE-INPUT DATA**

I stare at those words for the five minutes I have left before a new day dawns. Another day. The same day. Everyday.


End file.
